


Nantucket: An 'Interrogation Room' Sequal

by kmn1988



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmn1988/pseuds/kmn1988





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was two years since the war officially ended and a year since Emma returned to America. Returning to the good ol’ US of A, she moved to the quaint town on Nantucket. After spending years helping Jews and others deemed ‘unfit’ by the Nazis escape to England or America, she came home to find the house she had grown up in gone, sold off to the highest bidder, who tore it down and replaced it with some gaudy, extravagant mansion. She had traveled throughout the Northeast before settling in Nantucket. She bought a small house with a beautiful view of the ocean, where she would walk to daily. Though she wasn’t much a swimmer, Emma loved the feel of the cool ocean water against her skin. Her neighbors were also lovely. They were mostly older, though she didn’t mind. People her age could only talk about the war, what they were doing, how they helped the war effort, and how grateful they were to the Basterds and the German who killed Hitler and his highest ranking officers, bringing a swift end to a bloody war. The women her age would talk about how they spent months in factories, toiling away, so The Boys (as every woman her age seemed to affectionately call soldiers) could have planes and guns to fight with. When they would ask Emma about what she did, she often made up a lie, not wanting to divulge too much information about her time in Germany and France, as it was a secret mission that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by the US government. She made up some story about being in England, helping soldiers in hospitals there. It always seemed to satisfy the other women, most of whom didn’t want to know the goriness they thought she would’ve witnessed working so close to the front lines. The older people living in her neighborhood had a tendency to talk about the ‘good ol days’, when they were children, before either of the world wars, or tried to se Emma up with their son or grandson. She’d politely laugh it off and make an excuse. She could never be honest about what she was doing during the war and she could never be with someone she couldn’t be with someone she couldn’t be honest with. Emma was very content staying single. She could go for her walks and do as she pleased. 

On her walk home that sunny, summer afternoon, she smiled and nodded at her neighbors, who often greeted her on her walks. The Nicholsons, an elderly couple who lived in the same house for nearly twenty years, were chatting politely with a man that Emma had not seen in the area before, though she had a feeling she recognized him. Perhaps he was one of the Jews she helped escape the Nazis? Mrs. Nicholson noticed Emma staring and waved her over, “Emma! Come meet our new neighbor! He just moved into the empty house on the corner! This is Hans.” The man, who was talking to Mr. Nicholson at the moment, turned and gave her a dashing smile. Emma tried her best to keep the smile on her face as her stomach dropped. “Hans, this is Emma Penkov.” Her palms started to sweat and her heart raced, remembering the time she was caught by the SS on the border of France and Germany. It was him. It was the Jew Hunter.  
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Penkov,” Landa, The Jew Hunter, extended his hand.  
Discreetly wiping her hand, Emma extended hers, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” He brought her hand to his lips as he stared intensely into her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried her best to not show her nervousness. The slight smirk on his face as he rose let her know that she failed.  
“It must be such a delight to know someone closer to your age now, Emma!” Mrs. Nicholson enthusiastically stated.   
“Yes,” she sweetly smiled. “As much as would love to stay and meet Mr. Landa, my grandmother was expecting a call from me about fifteen minutes ago. Since she lives in Vienna, I wouldn’t like to keep her waiting. If you’ll excuse me.” She gave Mrs. Nicholson a brief hug, nodded her head to Mrs. Nicholson and the Jew Hunter, and left. As she made her way down the sidewalk, she heard heavy footsteps coming up behind her. She didn’t pause or look behind her, for she knew it was Landa.  
“Guten Tag, Fraulein Penkov. Or should I say, Fraulein Swartz,” Landa gloated when he was mere feet behind her. Sarah paused momentarily in her stride, giving him time to catch up.   
Her voice was steady and sure. “Guten Tag, Jew Hunter,” she replied with a slight turn of the head and a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised that you aren’t being hanged somewhere for crimes against humanity.”  
“Oh,” Landa chuckled as he matched her stride. “Your government would not do that to me. I am a war hero!”   
She glanced at the scar on his forehead; his bangs covered it up most of it, but she knew the shape from the rumors when she was in France. “I didn’t know war heroes were branded with the Nazi swastika on their foreheads.” His eyes flashed and she knew she hit a nerve. Quickening her pace, she walked down the path to her house. She glanced over her shoulder as she entered her house and saw him standing where she left him, glaring.

The next couple of weeks were uneventful; Emma continued her daily walks down to the ocean, reminiscing and letting her mind wander. She soon discovered that Landa moved into the house across the street from her, though that did not discourage her from her normal activities. She tended to her garden, visited with her neighbors, and helped plan the big Fourth of July celebrations. She caught Landa watching her at least once a week, but she always ignored him. Mrs. Nicholson, on the other hand, could not get enough of telling Emma ALL about the so-called ‘war hero’.   
One day, Mrs. Nicholson was feeling particularly chatty as Emma helped her unload her groceries, “Did you know that he worked with the Basterds to bring down the Nazi regime?”  
“Yes, Mrs. Nicholson,” Emma sweetly answered, taking two of the grocery bags in her arms.  
“If I didn’t know any better,” Mrs. Nicholson teased. “That you are getting annoyed by my talk of him.”  
“Oh no!” Emma replied. “I’m not annoyed what-so-ever.”  
Mrs. Nicholson looked at her with a twinkle in her eye, “If you say so. He is certainly handsome, even with that beard, and quite charming.”  
For a Nazi, Emma thought, adjusting the bags in her arms.   
“Speaking of,” Mrs. Nicholson waved to someone behind Emma.  
“Guten Tag, Mrs. Nicholson!” Landa cheerfully greeted. The two embraced and exchanged kisses on the cheek. “Hello Colonel! It’s nice to see you! You know Emma, of course.”  
“Hello, Emma. What a pleasure to see you again!” Landa smiled. Mrs. Nicholson turned to unlock her door, giving her a wink as she walked past.  
“Hello Colonel,” Emma replied, shifting the bags in her arms.  
Landa stepped forwards, arms extended, “Please, allow me to take those bags from you; they look rather heavy.”  
“It’s alright Colonel,” she glared, “I’m more than capable of taking a few grocery bags into the house.”  
“I insist,” he said, tapping her nose with this index finger. He smiled; she glared.  
“You do that again, and I’ll bite your finger off,” she growled.   
He hooked his finger under her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Fraulein Schwartz, I doubt you would do such a thing, for it would force me to retaliate,” His voice was a low grumble from deep in his chest. Though his eyes conveyed the threat, his smile never wavered. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, Emma not wanting to break eye contact first. Behind them, Mrs. Nicholson cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow at them. Landa took the grocery bags, smiling broadly at Mrs. Nicholson as he passed. Emma followed at a distance.  
“What was that all about?” Mrs. Nicholson queried with a twinkle in her eye.  
Emma politely smiled and shook her head, “It was nothing, Mrs. Nicholson.”  
“Well,” Mrs. Nicholson gave her a knowing smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was some sexual tension between the two of you.”  
Emma stammered out a response, blushing madly. “T-there is nothing between us nor was there ever.”  
Mrs. Nicholson raised her eyebrows, “I don’t believe I mentioned anything about your past, Emma.” Before Emma could come up with a response, Mrs. Nicholson walked inside. Emma sighed and followed her, wondering how long she would have to put up with the Jew Hunter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A loud knock on the door at 8 AM was not the way that Emma wanted to start her Fourth of July celebrations.  
“HAPPY 4TH OF JULY, MY DEAR EMMA!” Mr. Nicholson shouted. He had a beer in his hand and a smile on his face let her know that he already had a few.  
“Happy 4th of July, Mr. Nicholson,” Emma smiled and shook her head. She could see the other residents starting to set up for the day’s festivities.  
“Come,” he said, taking her hand, “come join us!”  
Emma laughed as he dragged her out. “Mr. Nicholson, I haven’t done my hair yet!”  
“You look fine, Emma!” he replied before taking a long drink from his bottle. He dragged her over to the group of neighbors.  
“Mr. Landa!” Mr. Nicholson cheered with a slight slur. “Would you tell the lovely yet single Miss Penkov that she looks well put together?”  
“Emma always looks beautiful,” he replied, giving her his most charming smile. He’s just trying to get under your skin, she thought as Mrs. Nicholson gave her a wink. “Aber wenn ich so frei sein darf, wenn deine Haare ist nach unten, du siehst umwerfend.” The rest of the group looked confused as Emma tried her hardest not to blush.  
“Thank you, Colonel Landa,” she demurely replied. He inclined his head as Mrs. Nicholson spoke up, “Emma! I never knew you spoke German!”  
Emma laughed, “Oh yes, I learned it from my grandmother. I’m fairly fluent in German, but I’m no natural, especially compared to the colonel.”  
“That is even more that you two have in common!” Mrs. Nicholson cheered, as she linked arms with Emma. “Now if you will excuse us, gentlemen; we have a picnic and dance to set up for.”

The picnic dinner was a great success. Everyone in the neighborhood brought a dish or two to pass around, along with beer, wine, and other spirits. The Nicholsons, Emma, Landa, and a few other neighbors all sat around on a large blanket, exchanging food, stories, and laughter. Everyone was chatting and having a good time, as the band set-up.  
“Emma, would you like me to announce the dance or do you want to?” asked Mrs. Nicholson as the band finished setting up.   
Emma studied Mrs. Nicholson and smiled, “You can go do it.” Mrs. Nicholson eagerly hopped to her feet, as well as a woman in her mid-sixties could anyway, and practically skipped over to the stage. The trumpeter helped her up on the stage.  
“GOOD EVENING LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Mrs. Nicholson shouted into the microphone. Emma glanced around, trying not to cringe. Landa, sitting kitty-corner to her, looked stoic, while the others didn’t mind Mrs. Nicholson’s volume. “IT WAS THE FOURTH OF JULY COMMITTEE’S DECISION TO HAVE A DANCE BEFORE THE FIREWORKS! ENJOY!”  
The conductor raised his wand and the band started to play. Couples walked onto the makeshift dance floor as the band started to play. The band played a variety of songs, from swing to some of the more classical songs and even some polkas. Some songs were purely instrumental while others had one or both singers. The male singer started to sing particularly perky polka, as Mr. Nicholson approached Emma.  
“My dearest Emma,” he extended his hand, giving her a Cheshire cat smile. “Would you do me the honor of dancing this polka with me?”  
Emma laughed, “I don’t know how to polka.”  
“Then I will teach you,” he said taking her hand. “Just follow my lead, my pretty neighbor.”  
They joined the rest of the other couples on the dance floor. Emma was not very graceful, to say the least, when it came to dancing the polka with Mr. Nicholson, but she laughed her way through it.  
“Oh Emma,” Mr. Nicholson teased as they applauded the band after the song was over. “You are not as graceful as you seem to be.”  
“Perhaps, Mr. Nicholson,” she countered as they walked off the dance floor. “The polka is not a graceful dance in the first place.”  
“Touché, Miss Penkov,” Mr. Nicholson laughed as he took his wife by the hand and led her out to the dance floor. The tempo slowed to a slow song as couples came together. The female singer stepped up to the microphone and started to sing, “Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky, stormy weather, since my man and I ain't together, keeps rainin' all the time.” Emma watched as the couples slowly danced across the floor. She had seen Landa dancing with Mrs. Nicholson earlier, along with a few of the other older women of the neighborhood. He was always charming to them, gliding even the most unskillful of them across the dance floor like they were professionals. She had not seen him within the span of the last few songs  
“Fraulein Schwartz,” a masculine voice murmured in her ear. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that Landa was standing very close behind her. “Care to dance?”  
Emma did her best to step away without making it obvious to the prying eyes of Mrs. Nicholson.   
“With the Jew Hunter?” She scoffed with a turn of her head, “I think not.”   
“To you, I am the Jew Hunter who fucked you against a wall in exchange for your freedom. To all these people,” he subtly gestured, “I am a war hero who is being turned down for a dance. I ask again, Fraulein Schwartz, care to dance?”  
Emma extended her hand. “Call me Fraulein Schwartz again, Jew Hunter,” she threatened with a sweet smile on her face, “and I’ll stomp on your feet.”  
Landa chuckled as he guided her to the dance floor. They could hear a new song starting in the background. The singer crooned, “Stars shining bright above you; night breezes seem to whisper I love you.”  
She placed on hand on his shoulder as he grasped her free hand. His free arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close. He pressed his body against hers as they started to dance.  
“Do we really need to be this close?” She muttered through gritted teeth. “People like to talk.”  
Landa smirked, “Let them talk, Fraulein Schwartz. You worry too much.”  
“Don’t call me that,” she hissed.   
He chuckled as his fingers ran up and down the small of her back, “Which, meine amerikanischen Schatzi?”  
“Schwartz,” she muttered. “No one here knows about my time in France. They all think I was in England, working as a nurse and, much like your secret-” She paused and gave him a confused look. “Did you just cause me your ‘American treasure’?”  
He laughed from deep in his chest, “Fraulein Penkov, you are a spitfire.” He gave her a quizzical look, “Did I use that correctly?”  
“Yes, you did,” she replied with a roll of the eye and a half smile.  
He smiled, “I see I am finally breaking down your walls, Fraulein.”  
She leaned her head to the side and studied his face, “Why the hell do you care about breaking down my walls?”  
He smiled and said nothing, keeping her tight against him as they danced. In the background, the band brought the song to an end. “Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss; I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear, just saying this: Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you - sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you. But in your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.”  
“You’re playing that game again,” she stated matter-of-factly.  
“What game?” Landa smiled charmingly as the music came to an end. He let go of her waist and she took a step back.  
“The cat-and-mouse game you played in the interrogation room, Colonel,” she replied as Mrs. Nicholson walked up to the microphone.   
“NOW, WASN’T THAT LOVELY?” Mrs. Nicholson yelled into the microphone. Emma cringed at the volume. “THE DANCED WAS PLANNED BY OUR VERY OWN EMMA PENKOV! WAVE, EMMA!” Emma smiled reluctantly and gave the applauding crowd a quick wave. “NOW THAT IT’S DUSK, IT’S TIME FOR THE FIREWORKS!” As the crowd made their way towards the grass, Emma turned and started to make her way home. She thought no one she knew noticed her slip out but a block away from the festivities; she heard heavy footsteps behind her.   
She turned and placed her hands on her hips, “Why the hell are you following me now?”  
Landa gave her a confused look, “What are you talking about, Emma? I am not following you. I am simply going home!” She looked at him suspiciously but turned and continued without a word.  
She was walking up her sidewalk when, in the background, they could hear the sizzle as the first set of fireworks. Emma jumped a bit at the first explosion, making Landa laugh.  
“Is my little fraulein afraid of the loud noises?” He teased.   
She turned on her heel and looked him in the eye. “I am NOT and never have been your ‘little fraulein’.”  
The fireworks illuminated the look on his face. He was studying her, his expression serious and his eyes a slight hardness to them. She drew a deep breath and straightened her posture as if to let him know she would not be intimidated. They stood like that for a moment or two, neither wanting to back down first. A particularly loud boom for a firework startled Emma, her focus suddenly on the night sky. Landa took the opportunity to pounce. He stepped forward with lightening fast reflexes. One hand became tangled in her hair, the other grabbing her ass, while his mouth collided with hers and he pressed his body against hers. His kiss was fervent and consuming. Emma’s breath caught in her throat as her hands braced herself against his chest. His tongue ran across her lower lip, causing her to let out a moan. He pulled back slowly, one hand on her hip and the other stroking her cheek.  
“Why did you do that?” She asked, her tone conveyed the suspicious feeling she had.   
He smiled, “Fraulein Schwartz, if you cannot figure out why I just kissed you, than, my dear, you not as smart as you were in the interrogation room.” He turned on his heel and walked away.  
“What the hell does is that supposed to mean?” She glared at his retreating back.  
“Auf Wiedersehen,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Emma confused and aggravated.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The weekend following the 4th of July, Landa had invited a few mutual friends and Emma, over to his house for dinner. Everyone brought a dish or a drink to pass around. Landa had made a main dish of braised beef roast. The Nicholsons brought a side of mash potatoes, the Andersons brought a casserole made of green beans and other vegetables, the Garcias brought a few bottles of sangria from Spain, and Emma brought a coffee cake for dessert.  
“Welcome, welcome!” Landa grinned as Emma entered his house. “Everyone else is already here! We were just waiting for you.”  
“Sorry,” she replied, feeling a bit sheepish. “It took longer to cool than I expected.”  
Landa waved away her apology, “Nothing to be sorry for, Fraulein, now come put your dish with the others and come join us in the deck!” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the foyer into the kitchen, where the other dishes were placed. Emma placed the dish with the others and Landa handed her a glass of sangria.  
“The Garcias had this shipped over from Spain,” he explained as she took a sip. “Come; let us join the rest of our friends.”

The dinner was full of stories and laughter, the latter provided by the copious amounts of Spanish sangria imbibed by the group.  
“That beef was the most succulent thing I’ve ever eaten!” Mr. Nicholson slurred.  
Emma laughed as she cut up the cake, “Mr. Nicholson, I do believe you’re ossified.”  
“Ossified?” Landa asked.  
“Betrunken, Colonel,” Emma replied, placing a piece of her coffee cake on a dish in front of him.  
“Danke, Fraulein,” he replied.  
“Oh Emma, you and your generation’s vocabulary; by the year 2000, why, they won’t even be speaking English the way we do!” Mrs. Anderson, who was old enough to remember then end of the Civil War (or at least claim to), exclaimed.  
Emma chuckled and shook her head, “I don’t believe that will be true, Mrs. Anderson.”  
“Mark my words, young lady!” she replied, shaking a finger at Emma. “They will be speaking an entirely new-fangled version of English! Why, during the War Between the States-”  
“Emma!” Mrs. Nicholson interrupted. Everyone, except perhaps Landa, knew not to get Mrs. Anderson on a tangent about the Civil War. Her father served with the Pennsylvania regiment and her eldest brother was, allegedly, a witness at the Appomattox Courthouse. “This is the most delicious cake! Tell us, where did you get the recipe?”  
“It was my great grandmother’s from Vienna,” Emma replied. “My grandmother brought the recipe over when she moved to America before the start of the First World War. Mrs. Garcia, did your son send this sangria from Spain? It’s delicious!”  
“Yes! He made it himself with the fruits from the small garden he has!” Mrs. Garcia beamed. “Speaking of whom, he will be calling us tomorrow morning, so we must be going.”  
“We also must be going,” Mrs. Nicholson replied, “We are going with the Andersons down to Boston for the weekend.”  
“Come along, dear,” Mrs. Anderson practically shouted in her husband’s ear. “Time to go home.”  
As the couples made their way to the door, Landa graciously accepted the praise for a lovely evening. Emma pondered the implications of staying behind as she started to clean up the table.  
“Fraulein Penkov, what are you doing?” Landa asked from the kitchen. She didn’t need to lift her eyes to know he was studying her yet again.  
“Cleaning up after the meal, Landa, as one should do,” she replied, continuing to stack the plates of the departed guests. He walked towards her (well, marched, really, as any former military man had the tendency to do) and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.  
“Please, sit,” he motioned to her chair. “It is my house and, therefore, I shall clean my dishes. You are a guest. Now, sit.” She contemplated what to say as he took her plate and wine glass.  
“More sangria, Fraulein?” he asked, walking over to the counter.  
She nodded, “Yes, please. The white one, if you would be so kind.”  
He inclined his head at her request. “Is there any particular reason you stayed behind, Fraulein?” he inquired as he poured the sangria. “You have a tendency to avoid anything that involves being alone with me.” He paused to hand her the glass. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you are afraid of me.”  
Emma took a sip of the wine, letting the fruity melody play out on her tongue as she thought of her answer. “Hardly,” she replied. “I do not wish to have a slip-up in front of one of our dear   
friends. None of them know that you were the Jew Hunter and none of them know I helped Jews escape.”  
Landa frowned as he sat back down. “I never enjoyed that title. It was a name that stuck.”  
Emma finished off her glass of sangria as she thought about a reply. He reached for her glass to refill it and she shook her head. “I’ll get it,” she said, rising from her chair. She drew in a slow breath as she poured another glass. “You know,” her voice trailed off as he turned to face her. She drew a deep breath and continued. “I am not one of those girls who sleep with men because they kiss me and tell me that I’m pretty.”  
He raised an eyebrow, “Did I give you that impression, Fraulein? Have I given you a reason to think that I believe you are one of those girls?”  
Emma frowned slightly and shrugged her shoulders, “No, but I am not sure what you think or why you do what you do.”  
Landa rose from his seat and slowly made his way over to her; his face was stoic but his eyes were full of a lustful hunger.  
“I do not fuck little sluts that open their legs for every man that gives them attention,” he grumbled from deep in his chest as he stood in front of Emma, only inches between them. Between the sangria and his cologne, her head was spinning. The cologne reminded her of their time in the interrogation room and the memories made her skin like it was on fire. Without a second thought, she stood on her tip-toes and wrapped her hands around his neck as her lips met his in a fervent kiss. Lips met lips, tongues met tongues. Her fingers entangled themselves in his hair as he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her onto the counter, never breaking their kiss. Emma pulled up her skirt and spread her legs. Her fingers worked at his belt and fly as he roughly tore away her underwear. His trousers dropped to the floor as his cock strained against his underwear. Emma pulled back from the rough kiss as her hand slid around his cock. Her thumb rubbed the tip, making Landa inhale sharply. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to the edge of the counter. She guided his tip to her wet entrance and let out a guttural moan as he entered. His thrusts started slow, each one more teasing than the last. Emma closed her eyes and let her head roll back as one of his hands started to massage her breast. His hand traveled up to her throat as she let out a groan.  
“Landa,” she begged. “Stop teasing me.” He squeezed her throat just enough to cause her to gasp for air. He let up the pressure and moved his hand around to the back of her head, pulling her in for a rough, sensual kiss. His lips tasted like the sangria they had been drinking, making her feel a bit dizzy. He entwined his fingers in her hair and pulled back, gaining access to her neck. As he kissed and nibbled on her throat, he started to pound into her. Landa buried himself in her breasts as her breath started to quicken. The hand that was on her hip was playing with one nipple, while his tongue was playing with the other. Emma gripped the counter and let out a high pitched moan.  
“Ich möchte, dass du zum Orgasmus,” he practically growled as he sped up.  
“I’m-I’m going to,” she replied, her voice high pitched and breathless. His teeth grazed a nipple and the sensation sent her overboard. She wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding her clit against his pelvis as she practically screamed his name.  
“LANDA,” she shouted as her pussy contracted around his thick cock. A few more thrusts and he was cumming in her, letting out a deep growl as he nibbled her ear. He kissed her jaw then her rapid pulse before resting his head on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as her breath slowed and she leaned her head against his. His musky scent filled her nostrils as his warm breath tickled her clavicle. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she swore he could hear it. Her head was spinning from the combination of her first orgasm in what felt like years and the fruity sangria. Her hands rested on his hips and his finger tips gently caressed her back. They stayed that way a few minutes before he finally pulled out. She scooted off the countertop and adjusted her skirt.  
“It seems you owe me two pairs of underwear, Mr. Landa,” Emma joked as she buttoned up her blouse.  
“Two, Fraulein?” he quipped.   
“The one you took from the interrogation room,” Emma replied with a coy smile while avoiding eye contact, “and, of course, tonight.” Slipping her shoes back on, she quickly made her way to the door. Silently, he followed her.  
“Well, Mr. Landa,” Emma called out, checking her appearance in his entryway mirror, “I thank you for a splendid night.”  
“You are welcome, Fraulein,” he replied. She turned and he was mere inches away with a look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. He bent down and kissed her hand, making her heart skip a beat. “I’m glad you had a pleasant evening and I wish you a good night.”  
“Same to you, Hans,” she murmured in reply as she opened the door. She glanced at him one last time before hurrying out into the cool night air. He still had that damned look in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Emma was meditating on the beach one cool late September day when she heard someone approach from behind. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was _him_.

“Have you been avoiding me, Fraulein?” Landa asked. She could tell by his voice he was amused. _Probably wants to play another round of his stupid game_ , she thought as she concentrated on her breathing. It was true; she hadn’t attended anything where she even thought he might be since they fucked on his kitchen counter a few weeks prior.

“Don’t be silly,” Emma scoffed as he approached. She adjusted her position and rolled her shoulders, attempting to loosen a tight muscle in her back. “I’ve merely been busy.” The terse chuckle from deep in his throat let her know that he didn’t believe her. She continued to attempt to stretch out the muscle, ignoring him. She almost found the perfect position to stretch out the pesky knot when he broke the silence, “Oh, stop. You are not going to work out that pain in your shoulder. Come here.” His strong hands started to massage her tense shoulders. It felt…nice. She felt her neck start to relax as her head lolled and her eyes fluttered shut. His hands slowly worked down her back, kneading and pressing areas that she didn’t know were tense. She let out a relaxed sigh as his hands worked the knot that she couldn’t stretch out. She heard the distinct crunch of sand underfoot as he changed his position to more comfortably access the area he was massaging at the moment. As his hands moved down her spine to her lower back, she unconsciously leaned against him, enjoying his skilled hands as they worked her tight, tense muscles. She leaned her head to the side, relishing the tranquility of the moment. Emma could feel his breath on her neck as he leaned closer; his slight stubble brushed against her neck and she let out the softest of moans. His skilled hands worked her sides, daringly traveling down her hips. Her mind screamed that if someone were to catch her in this compromising position, especially with _him_ , that it could be very damaging to her reputation. Emma’s eyes snapped open and she tried to move away.

“Relax, Fraulein Schwartz,” Landa murmured as he pulled her closer to him. His musky scent filled her nostrils as she allowed him to pull her closer, her heart pounding against her breast and her skin tingling with sexual desire. His hands started to massage her stomach and travel south. She let out a throaty moan as he trailed kisses along her jaw. Emma felt his hands start to pull at the hem of her dress and caress her inner thighs. She started to turn to so she could straddle him. An arm wrapped around her waist as he grumbled ‘Nein’ in her ear. Expert fingers teased her lips through her underwear. Gentle strokes made her breath catch in her throat. Gentle nips of her neck made her pulse race. She wondered if he could tell her underwear was practically soaked through as he ran his fingers up and down the satin material.

“Please, Landa,” she begged, grinding her hips against his fingers. In response, he chuckled as he slowly, meticulously, teasingly pushed her panties to gain access to her wetness. She whimpered as he roughly pushed two fingers into her; his thumb stroked her clit. Every flick and every stroke was timed perfectly to give her pleasure. An occasional nibble on her neck elevated the pleasure, but not enough to send Emma into the orgasm she could feel ever so slowly building inside her. She reached behind her to access his cock – to give him the same teasing pleasure she was feeling. The hand wrapped around her waist grabbed her wrist and squeezed.

“Nein, Fraulein,” he replied, more forcefully this time. He held her wrist tightly as he worked her into an intense orgasm. Emma arched against him as she came – clamping her lips shut to stop herself from screaming out. As the pleasures started to subside, she rested her back against his chest. His breath tickled her neck as he released her arm and pulled her closer. Emma closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax against him. She could feel him remove his fingers from her sex before his free hand tugged her skirt back down. She could hear him inhale sharply.

“Mmm, köstlich,” he murmured after a brief pause.

“Do I want to know what you’re finding delicious?” Emma asked as she slowly pulled away from him.

He chuckled as he rose to his feet, “Your… _Wesen…_ Fraulein.” He stood in front of her and helped her to her feet.

“My essence?” She raised an eyebrow while dusting off the sand from her skirt. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her close. She braced her hands against his chest as he leaned down. The kiss was gentle – a little nibble on her lower lip before his tongue slid into her mouth, exploring. She could taste herself on his tongue and the whole thing was almost dizzying. She sighed and leaned into his kiss.

“Fraulein,” he practically growled after their lips broke apart. His hazel eyes were darkened with a look that sent shivers down her spine. “I could fuck you until you couldn’t walk anymore.”

The distant sound of someone calling her name snapped Emma back to reality. Emma stepped away and started to make her way towards the boardwalk.

“My apologies, Mr. Landa,” she replied as the two made their way up the beach. “I don’t think that would be healthy for our relationship.” Landa opened his mouth to refute her statement, but a figured turned the corner onto the boardwalk and their conversation was cut short.

“Emma!” They could hear Mrs. Nicholson call out. “There you are! With Mr. Landa, no less!”

“Guten Tag, Frau Nicholson,” Landa greeted their mutual friend with a nod of the head. “How are you this lovely day?”

“Very well, Mr. Landa, thank you for asking!” Mrs. Nicholson, never immune to Landa’s so-called charm, practically beamed at him. “Emma! I’ve been looking for you all over the place! I have the most exciting news for you!”

“Oh?” Emma replied, tilting her head to the side. “What would that be?”

“You remember the rumor about Mr. Waltz retiring as the head librarian?”

Emma teased, “How can he be head librarian if he’s the only one working there?”

“Emma, please!” Mrs. Nicholson faked astonishment, playfully slapping her younger friend’s arm. “Mr. Landa, I don’t know how you put up with her.”

“I am a very patient man,” he replied with a slight shrug of the shoulders. He caught Emma’s eye over Mrs. Nicholson’s head and gave her a mischievous wink. Emma glared before returning her attention to Mrs. Nicholson.

“You were saying that Mr. Waltz is retiring, Mrs. Nicholson,” Emma urged her to continue.

“Ah, yes! Well, they are in desperate need of someone to replace him and _your_ name came up!”  
Emma didn’t attempt to hide her shock and confusion. “My name? Why my name?”

“Because, dear, the only person to actually apply, as of right now, is that dreadful Anitra Parker and she’s older than Mr. Waltz is! Mrs. Anderson and I are in agreement that you should come right now and talk to Mr. Waltz yourself.”

Emma looked from Mrs. Nicholson’s beaming face to Landa and back.

“Ok,” she sighed. “I’ll go speak with Mr. Waltz now.”  
“Wonderful! He’s waiting for you!”

“You told him I was coming without asking me first?” Emma asked, an annoyed tone creeping into her voice.

“Well,” Mrs. Nicholson smiled, “I didn’t plan on you saying ‘no’. I need to go inform Mrs. Anderson. Ta-ta, Emma, Mr. Landa!” They stood together on the corner as Mrs. Nicholson practically skipped over to the Andersons’ house.

“That woman,” she sighed.

Landa let out a soft laugh. “You should be on your way, Fraulein. You do not want to miss your – ah – interview.”

“Right,” she muttered, letting the slight annoyance show on her face. “Wish me luck, I suppose.”

Landa placed his hand on the small of her back and urged, “You don’t need luck, Emma.”

She looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. His hand gave a gentle smack on the fuller part of her butt. She glared.

He smiled, “Veil Glück **,** Fraulein. Auf Wedersehen.”

_Well_ , Emma thought as he started to walk down their street and she started to make her way to the library, _if I do get this job, I won’t have to see_ him _as often_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm terrible about updating. I deserved to be punished...preferably by Christoph Waltz. I limited the German to phrases I'm 99.9% sure are correct. I swear I will limit my German from here on out for the sake of those who actually speak the language.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _Damn these high bookshelves_ , Emma thought, standing on her tip toes. The library was quite, as usual, giving her the opportunity to organize the mess of books that the former librarian, Mr. Waltz, was taking off the shelves as he saw them ‘unfit’ for the general public to read. Though, Emma was quite sure that the likes of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, Stuart Little, and The Black Stallion Returns were not considered to be ‘unfit’. She blew a piece of hair out of her face, resigning to her fate – she’d have to walk all the way to the front of the library and retrieve the damned stepstool. The bell on the front door rang informing her that a patron had entered. She struggled to put the heavy books in her arm, cutting off circulation, onto an empty shelf so she could attend to said patron’s needs. Shaking her arm to start the circulation again, she made her way up to the front.

“How may I help?” The question died on her lips. No one was there, but she hadn’t passed anyone while making her way up through the stacks. Maybe someone opened the door but didn’t come in. She shrugged her shoulders and returned to the stacks. As soon as she returned to where she was reorganizing, she remembered she needed a step stool. Not wanting to go to the front again, she eyed the bottom shelf. It could probably hold her weight, especially if she was quick about it. She placed one foot on the shelf and hoisted herself upward.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered as she attempted to balance on one high-heeled foot.

“That is an interesting phrase, Emma,” a voice called out behind her. Emma let out a yelp as she lost her balance and started to fall backwards. She fell against something sold and, thankfully, fleshy. The solid-yet-thankfully-fleshy thing she fell against gave a throaty chuckle as he helped her regain her balance.

“Thank you, Colonel,” she murmured as she straightened her skirt and turned to face him.

“What were you trying to do, Fraulein?”

She tilted her head in the direction of the shelf. “I was trying to put a book back in its correct spot.”

His eyes – those hazel eyes that could be so soft one moment and as cold as ice the next – slowly trailed from the book in her hand to her face and then the top shelf and back. He smiled and chuckled, “Fraulein, why did you not find something to stand on instead of risking hurting yourself?”

A slight blush rose to her cheeks as she shrugged, “I thought I could get it up there if I stepped on the bottom shelf. I might have succeeded if you didn’t spook me.”  
Landa gently removed the book from her hand, “I didn’t spook you, Fraulein. You should pay better attention to your surroundings.” He reached over her to place the book in the correct spot. She took a step back, extremely aware of his proximity to her. To be that close, to almost feel the heat from his skin and have his scent ensnare her senses, Emma reminded herself, can be very dangerous. Not that she feared he’d do bodily harm to her, but they tended to end up in situations that could end up compromising her reputation. Her mind raced for a way out before they ended up fucking in the stacks. Emma felt herself become aroused at the thought, but quickly pushed it away as she looked for a way to distance herself further.

“Thank you for your assistance, Colonel,” she grabbed the cart full of books and started to walk away.

“Is everything alright, Fraulein?” Landa asked; she could tell by his tone that he was amused by her attempt to distance herself.

She turned on her heel and squared her shoulders. “Every time you and I are alone,” she paused, thinking how she wanted to finish her sentence without being crude, “we tend to end up in very intimate situations in semi-private to very public places. I’d rather not end up in that situation while I’m on the job.”  
Landa smiled, “Fraulein, I believe you are the one to initiate those…intimate situations? I was coming to speak with you about Mrs. Nicholson’s relative that is visiting.”

“Yes,” Emma grimaced slightly. She grinned at him, “Is she setting him up with you too?”

Landa raised an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

Emma sighed, “Mrs. Nicholson thinks she’s a matchmaker, no matter how much I protest to it. She’s having a dinner for him tomorrow. Anyway, if you’ll please excuse me.” She continued to push the cart down the aisle, listening for heavy footsteps – or at least attempting to over the horrendous screech of the cart wheels. The midday sun shown in through one of the windows and Emma wondered if it was always that obnoxiously bright.

 

Was it Wednesday or Thursday? Emma couldn’t remember – the last day was a bit of a blur since she closed the library early. Her left lobe was about to explode – Emma was sure of it. As she lay on the couch with a cool, wet towel over her eyes, she wondered if a sledgehammer would be strong enough to rid her of this migraine. She heard her front door open and close.

Emma sighed, “I’m in the living room where you left me not even fifteen minutes ago, Mrs. Nicholson.” Heavy footsteps and a throaty chuckle clued her in as to who really entered her house.

“It’s not Mrs. Nicholson, Fraulein,” Landa said. “She asked me to come and check on you.”

“If you could not yell, Colonel, that would be the bee’s knees,” she grumbled, pressing the cool cloth against her temple.

“Hangover?” she heard him ask; she could hear the amusement in his voice.

She practically growled, “It’s a migraine, Landa.”

“I’m aware, Fraulein,” he said, his tone and volume softer. “Though, Mrs. Nicholson has it in her mind that you are trying to avoid her nephew or some such thing.”

“Yes,” she snapped. “I purposefully got a migraine to avoid being setup with her…whatever.”

“Nephew,” Landa corrected in a bit of a teasing tone.

Emma frowned, “What do you want, Landa?”

“To check on you, Fraulein,” he retorted. Judging by the sound of his voice, he was much closer to her now. The cloth was removed from her eyes and she glared – or attempted to at least. He smirked at her attempt. He placed the not so cold cloth on the coffee table and turned back to her.

“Have you thought of going to bed, Miss Penkov?”

Emma scrunched her eyes as spots floated across her field of vision, “That would involve moving. If I move, I am liable to fall over, trip, vomit, or a combination thereof.”

He gave what sounded like a snort of derision before walking away. He was by her side again a moment or two later.

“Come along, Emma,” Landa slid his arms under her shoulders and behind her knees. “You should go to bed.” She groaned as he lifted her off the couch and adjusted her in his arms. The trip to the bedroom was thankfully uneventful; he was surprisingly gentle carrying her to the bedroom. Years of military training meant his footsteps were smooth, she felt barely a jostle as he carried her down the hall into her bedroom. The room was bright with the evening sun shining in. He set her gently on the bed; she heard him walk towards the window and shut the curtains. The bed dipped as he sat beside her.

“What are you doing?” Her tone let him know how annoyed and skeptical she was. The last thing she wanted was someone to dote over her, especially him.

“Fraulein Penkov, stop being so damn stubborn,” he growled. “I am aware of migraines. I knew a woman in Austria that developed them.”

“You knew a woman?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder.

He smirked, “Jealous, Fraulein?”

“Hardly,” she turned her back to him. “After all, many people would consider you the enemy if they knew the truth.” Emma cringed. The words she said and the way she said them were much harsher than she meant. The tension was palpable until Landa spoke again, “Miss Penkov, I understand you do not always enjoy my company. However, as I am here, willingly, to assist you as you are currently incapacitated; common courtesy is to be expected.”

She rolled over to face him; a feeling of guilt washed over her as she studied the stern expression on his face.

“You are right,” she murmured. “Es tut mir leid.”

His expression softened a bit, “Danke, Fraulein.”

“Do-” she paused as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the sudden onset of throbbing against her temple. “Do you mind staying? Just for a bit,” she hastily continued. She opened one eye just enough to watch him. “This migraine isn’t getting any better and if I need to go to the hospital,” she explained, “I’d rather have someone here.” She expected him to scoff, to tell her to fuck off, or to make fun of her. She could practically hear his taunt now. The little fraulein is asking the Jew Hunter to stay? What an interesting turn of events! He’d say in a gleeful tone with a grin on his face as if he were a cat that just ate a canary. Instead, he solemnly nodded before sitting beside her.

Emma closed her eyes and murmured, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

“Fraulein?”

“You could stay here or go sit on the couch. I have some books that may be of some interest to you – military and historical books.”

“I will be fine here. We should get you more comfortable, however,” he replied, placing his hand on her leg in a comforting manner. “Where do you keep your nightgown?”  
Emma, her eyes still closed, shook her head. “I don’t have a nightgown. I sleep in my underwear.”

Emma felt the bed shift again and sensed him hovering over her. His hands gently pushed her into a sitting position. Emma opened her eyes and blinked once, twice before surveying the situation. Landa, looking a bit concerned, was half kneeling on her bed by her left shoulder, his hands still on her back for support. Her field of vision was fuzzy, causing her to feel dizzy.

Landa’s right hand left her back and was hovering around the hem of her blouse.

“Fraulein, do you need help undressing?”

Emma bit her lip to stop a laugh and a snide remark from slipping out; she shook her head slightly. Her own trembling hands – most likely from the fact she hadn’t eaten in hours – grabbed the hem of her shirt as she pulled it off. Landa’s hand that had been resting on her back before she pulled off her top returned, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. How am I going to get this off? Emma thought looking down at her skirt. She blindly groped for the zipper, letting out a frustrated sigh when she couldn’t find it.

“Relax, Fraulein,” Landa murmured. The hand on the thigh quickly found the zipper and unzipped her skirt. “Lift your hips,” he instructed, tugging at the loose article of clothing. She managed to follow his instructions without losing her balance – or whatever contents her stomach was threatening to spill all over her bedroom carpet. “Again,” he instructed, giving a tug to the blankets she was sitting on. Emma glanced up and studied his face momentarily. His expression was all business; if he felt the slightest bit of lust for the woman in front of him lying in her underwear, his face did not betray a thing. She propped herself up long enough for him to move the blanket from under her. She laid down in her plush king-sized bed as Landa brought the blankets up to her shoulder.

“I am more than capable of tucking myself in, Colonel,” Emma grumbled as he tucked her in.

“Fraulein,” his warning tone had a subtle hint of tease to it. “I am here to help you, that is enough.” Emma let out a slight grumble of resignation as she laid her head on her pillow. “I will be back in a moment,” he told her as he started to walk out of the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Her tone betrayed how worried she felt being by herself.

“I am going to phone Mrs. Nicholson to let her know how you are doing,” Hans replied. “I will be back in a moment.”

Emma sighed again and closed her eyes, turning her back away from the door. She could hear snippets of him talking on her phone, heavy footsteps pacing back and forth in her kitchen. In the cool quietness of her bedroom, she could feel her body surrendering to some much needed sleep. Emma could barely make out footsteps as he entered her bedroom again.

“Emma?” Landa muttered, his voice slightly above a whisper. He walked towards her side of the bed and the footsteps stopped. Emma assumed he was checking to see if she was asleep and since she almost was, she didn’t bother opening her eyes. Again, the sound of heavy footsteps let her know his location – he had walked to the other side of the bed. Some rustling noises followed and the bed dipped as he climbed on. Maybe it was the fact that she was falling asleep, or maybe he said it so quietly that she couldn’t hear a word he said, but as he stretched out next to her, he muttered something, a nickname she couldn’t quite make out. Soon the room was filled with the lullaby of an early October evening in Nantucket – a soft breeze wafting through the trees, some chatter amongst the birds, and the distant sounds of the beach, all of which lulled her into a slumber.

 

When she woke up early the next morning, she found Landa was still in her bed. Not only was he still in her bed, but he was spooning her. Slowly, she turned to study his face and put a little space between them. The early morning sun was shining through the window, casting interesting shadows on his face. Emma noticed how the faded scar on his forehead, which the Basterds liked to mark Nazi soldiers with, was pronounced in the early morning sun – a reminder of the sins he committed in Germany; how his dark blond eyelashes swept across his cheek; how his beard had sporadic grey hairs starting to show; the dark blond hair that covered his chest trailed down is abdomen, disappearing under the blankets and (presumably) underwear. He shifted in his sleep a bit, draping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Fraulein,” he muttered. “Why are you staring at me?” He slowly opened his eyes and gazed into hers. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought of an explanation.

She settled for the truth, “I’m not sure.”

He ran his fingers up and down her spine as he gazed into her eyes. He brought his hand to her hip and pulled her close. She resisted the urge to bite her lip as he pulled her under him – not breaking eye contact the whole time. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his hips press against hers as his head towards her neck.

“Fraulein,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear while grinding his hips against hers.

“Landa,” she moaned. His lips brushed against her cheek before he trailed kisses down her neck. One hand trailed up and down her side, once in every few passes going below her underwear. “Hans!”

“Mmmm?” He murmured, gently biting the area where her neck met her shoulder, making her hips buck. Emma could feed him smile against her skin as he moved his head to kiss her collarbone. He brought his free hand to rest on her breast as his mouth hovered over her other one. She could feel the heat from his breath through the thin material of her bra as he hovered over it, his lips millimeters away. “Hans?” It was more of a moan than a question. His beard bristled against her breasts as he raised his head to meet her gaze.

“Ja, meine Fraulein?” The hand resting on her breast started to make tiny circles around her ever-hardening nipple.

“I want you to fuck me,” she mewed as she reached for his cock. In response, he grabbed her arms, pinning them above her head, and started to kiss her passionately. She squirmed in pleasure under him – yearning for him to pound her until she couldn’t take it anymore. He let up from their passionate kiss and trailed kisses down her neck. She rolled her head to the side and glanced at the clock.

“Is it that late already?” She muttered as he moved over her breasts and down her stomach, letting go of her hands.

Hans glanced up, “What time is it, Fraulein?”

“Almost 8:30,” she panted as he nibbled on the skin over her hipbone.

“Scheiβe,” he mumbled. Emma gave him a confused look as he moved back on top of her. “My apologizes, Fraulein,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “I am expecting a phone call. Another time, perhaps?”

She nodded vigorously as she pressed her lips together. He chuckled as he bent his head down to kiss her again. The kiss was long and passionate; Emma pulling his body against her. They broke apart and Hans stroked her cheek.

“Emma, you drive me wild,” he whispered into her ear before finally vacating the bed. She sat up and watched him as he quickly dressed.

“We should do this again, soon. Ja, Fraulein?” He asked, buttoning his shirt.

A flirty smiled crossed her lips, “Ja, Herr.”

“Mmmmm, sehr gut,” he replied, giving her another quick peck before leaving. “Auf Wedersehen, Fraulein Penkov.”

She waited until she heard the door open and close before she let out the breath she was holding. She was confused and horny and she wasn’t a fan of either.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Weeks had passed since Landa had spent the night at her house, but the two never found a time to meet up. Emma became busy with the town’s first annual Halloween party planning. Mrs. Nicholson (of course) headed up the committee and (of course) had begged Emma to be her second.  
“The 4th of July dance was the bee’s knees!” Mrs. Nicholson exclaimed when the committee was trying to figure out what to do for Halloween. “We could have another party with music, food, costumes, and decorations!”  
Emma sighed, “Where are we supposed to hold this party? It’s too cold for the beach this time of the year.”  
“The library?” Another committee member suggested. Emma couldn’t remember her name; the woman, like half of the committee, was from the other side of the island, where most of the families lived.   
Emma shook her head, “The library is three stories and no room for dancing.”  
“I want something for the kids!” Another one of the other-side-of-the-island-people whined. Emma didn’t even bother remembering her name; she only knew her as the Whiner because all she did was whine and whine about all the decisions made so far.  
Mrs. Nicholson didn’t do well hiding her annoyance with the Whiner, “Well, Shirley, because the majority of the adults on this island, we shall be discussing a party for the adults.”  
Shirley the Whiner scowled at Mrs. Nicholson.   
Emma decided to speak up before a fight broke out. “Why doesn’t the committee break up into two sub-committees: one for the adults only party, the other for the children?”  
Mrs. Nicholson beamed. “That is a great idea!” Emma grinned in response. “Emma, you should oversee the party for the children.”  
Her smile dropped, “What?”  
“There isn’t anyone I trust more with leading the committee to have the children’s party be a success. Shirley, I’m sure, will be more than happy to be your co-chair.”  
“Wonderful,” she replied with a tight smile. “Shirley, I’m sure, would be more than happy to put together the rest of the committee; wouldn’t you, Shirley?”  
Shirley nodded, rather overexcitedly, “I’d be honored!”  
“Well, it’s settled then!” Mrs. Nicholson replied, with an amused twinkle in her eye. “Emma, why don’t you take your committee over to the library and start planning. You and I will meet up later to discuss what your lovely committee has come up with!”   
Emma stood, as did (what she assumed) was Shirley’s cronies, and walked towards the doors. Emma turned to look over her new sub-committee and glanced over at Mrs. Nicholson, who gave her a shit-eating grin.

Everything was planned in a few short weeks. The library would be turned into a maze full of literary characters – both good and bad – for the children. When they reached the end, the children would be greeted with goodies and treats for them. To cover the cost of everything, the parents would be charged a nickel per child and any profits encored after the costs would go towards the newly-formed holiday party planning committee, which Mrs. Nicholson was the head of, naturally. After the maze was over and it was time for the children to go to bed, a costume party would be held for the adults – complete with dinner, dancing, and an open bar. On Mischief Night, Emma was over at Mrs. Nicholson’s house to help create the treats for the little demons. Mr. Nicholson had invited Landa over, claiming that he didn’t want to be outnumbered by women.   
Mrs. Nicholson was going over the checklist as Emma danced to the music coming out of the living room. “Do we have the skinned grapes to feel like eyeballs?”  
“We do,” Emma said, twirling about as she stirred the melted marshmallows for the rice crispy treat.  
“Spaghetti for the worms?”   
“Mmmhmm,” Emma nodded as she mixed the crispy rice cereal and the melted concoction together and pressed them into a pan to cool.  
“Those…what did you call them…dirt cupcakes?”  
“The cupcakes are just about done, the chocolate cookies are all crumbled up for the dirt on top of the frosting, and the frosting is cooling in the refrigerator,” Emma replied, doing the Charleston dance by herself.  
Mrs. Nicholson gave her young friend an amused look, “What has you in such a good mood?”  
Emma shrugged as she continued to dance, “Halloween was one of my favorite holidays growing up. I also enjoy baking – my mother and I used to bake every Sunday before the war.”  
“Em, my dear friend, you are so full of surprises,” Mrs. Nicholson smiled as Landa stood in the doorway behind her. Emma shrugged and continued to dance.   
“It keeps life interesting, doesn’t it?” She twirled as the timer went off.  
“I agree, mein Schatzi,” Landa called out, a smile played on his lips. She willed her blush at bay as she pulled out the cupcakes. “Fraulein, are you blushing?”  
“No,” she quickly replied. “It’s the heat from the oven. Mrs. Nicholson, the cupcakes will take time to cool; why don’t I stop over tomorrow to finish them?”  
“Yes, that’s perfectly alright. It is getting rather late, isn’t it?” Mrs. Nicholson said, peering out the window. “Mr. Landa should walk you home, just to be safe.”  
Emma rolled her eyes and sighed, “Mrs. Nicholson, really, I’m sure Mr. Landa has something better to do than walk me across the street and down three houses.”  
“Mr. Landa,” Mrs. Nicholson all but begged him.  
Landa pondered for a moment or two before replying, “Emma, I am not familiar with this…Mischief Night? Perhaps, you could explain it to me whatever is going on, as we did not have this night in Austria. We could discuss it on our way out, as I was also about to leave.”  
She nodded as she shrugged on her jacket; there was no point in arguing now. She walked towards the door, pausing for him to catch up. He strode to the door after he said his goodbyes to the Nicholsons.  
“Fraulein,” he gestured, opening the door. Emma strode out into the cool night air, debating on what to do next.  
“There is a chill in the air tonight,” Landa commented as he casually surveyed the night sky.   
Emma shrugged, “That won’t stop the kids. They’ve been planning it for weeks.”  
Landa shoved his hands into his pockets, “What are they planning?”  
She paused for a moment before stating in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’d be easier to show you. Come on.” He followed her to her car, where she drove him through the neighborhood on the other side of the island. She showed him the trees covered in toilet paper, the windows on the cars were written on with soap – mostly profane words, and building were covered in eggs.  
“You were aware of all of this?” He asked with a vague wave of the hand.  
Emma shrugged nonchalantly, “I had an idea of who’s house the students were going to target, but I didn’t know their exact plans.” She glanced at him and smiled, “Plausible deniability.”  
He smirked and shook his head, pondering, “Why do they do all of this?”  
Emma shrugged, “Probably for the thrill of it all, just like why they go to the make-out point.”  
“Make-out point?” Landa gave her an odd look.  
“Are you confused over the vernacular or something else?” She asked.  
He shook his head, “I am confused of where this location might be, as I have explored the island many times.”  
She flashed a smile as she put the car into drive again. “Let’s take a drive.”

It took a few minutes of twisty roads to get to the make-out point on the island, about halfway between the two ‘sides’ of the island. It was semi-secluded, near the beach where the kids would have bonfires in the summer. No cars were there tonight, as all the students were home after trashing the houses of their friends, family, and teachers. Emma put the car in park and motioned for him get out of the car.  
Hans surveyed the area as he asked, “This is the make-out area?”  
Emma let out a throaty laugh as she leaned against the hood of the car. “They don’t make-out out here, in the open; they do it in the cars.”  
Hans raised an eyebrow as he approached her. “Is it too risky for them, Fraulein?”  
“How am I supposed to know?” she coyly replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “They’re a bunch of teenagers.”  
She leaned seductively against the car as he reached for her, his lips barely brushing against hers before he found the sweet spot on her neck. As they made out, he unbuttoned her top and unclasped her bra. He stood back to remove his own shirt and the sudden rush of the cool fall air made her nipples very hard. Grasping her hips, Hans turned her around to face the hood of the car. Emma could feel his erection pressing against her ass as his hands ran over the curve of her breasts, traveling down to her hips before bending her over the hood of the car. Emma eagerly slid her pants off, along with her underwear. She heard his fly unzip and his pants drop to the ground followed by his moan as he entered her. He gave her only a second or two to let her body adjust to his size before pounding into her. Her lips were pressed tightly together to stop the loud moaning as she tried to keep up on her toes to give him better access. She gasped with a mixture of pleasure and surprise as he slapped her ass, grumbling something that roughly translated to ‘fuck’.  
“Please don’t stop,” she rasped, edging closer to an orgasm. Landa grabbed a fist full of her hair as his thrusts sped up. Emma clung to the hood of the car as she tried to hold off her orgasm for just a moment longer. Landa must have figured out what she was trying to do; the hand on her hip travelled across her pelvis, igniting the nerves along the way, and started to play with her already sensitive clit.  
“Cum for me,” he growled in her ear. Between the sensation of his cock pounding her wet pussy raw and his fingers manipulating her clit in ways she didn’t know was possible, Emma had one of the most intense orgasms of recent memories. A raspy moan escaped her lips as her legs trembled and a dizzying, tingling sensation spread from her head down though her limbs. Seconds later, Landa came a grumble and a warm sensation between her legs. He bent over, nuzzling and kissing her bare skin before he pulled out. Emma turned around and redressed slowly.  
Landa raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Are you alright, Fraulein?”  
“That was an intense orgasm,” she replied, putting her bra back on. “I’m a bit…lightheaded?”  
Landa chuckled as he pulled her close, “Are you unsure?”  
Emma closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder, enjoying the sensation of his touch on the sensitive skin of her lower back. “No,” she murmured. “It’s just an intense orgasm like that makes me lightheaded and a bit ossified without the alcohol.”  
He chuckled as he pulled her close. The kiss he placed on her forehead was tender and sweet; a part of her – and she didn’t know how big the part was – wanted nothing but to stay like this. But reality set in – though he was the only person that she could be honest with about where she was during the War, he was also a Nazi that killed people she tried to save; though she could never be sure he was directly responsible for deaths of the Jewish people in the region where she was. She heard the rumors, how he would have his men shoot any Jews found on site. But the other outcome was disease, starvation, and most likely death from the concentration camps. It all became too much for her to think about and she pulled back all-of-the-sudden.  
“Fraulein,” Landa gave her an odd look. “Is everything alright?”  
Emma did her best to fake a smile. “I’m peachy keen. We should be getting back though. I have a long day tomorrow.”  
He stared at her for a moment, his face serious, before breaking out into a smile. “Of course, Fraulein.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before walking over to the passenger side of the car. The drove home in silence.  
“Good night, Miss Penkov,” Landa said as he got out of the car. A few long strides put distance between himself and Emma before she could even get out of the car, leaving her in the dark.


End file.
